The Way We Were
by joana26
Summary: Six months after the events of season 5, Martha has to face Charles again. Chapter 3 is up! No season 6 spoilers.
1. Part I: Facing Him

**Disclaimer:** These characters are not mine… unfortunately. / Please, no season 6 spoilers in your reviews. I haven't seen it yet! Thank you!

**The Way We Were**

**Part I:**_ Facing Him_

The security camera panned slowly across the entrance gate, capturing the light rain that had begun to fall. Even though it was more of a fog than actual rain, one's clothes seemed to be soaked wet in a matter of minutes. The whole world was as grey as the paved driveway that led up to the four-bedroom villa.

It was quarter past three in this seemingly endless afternoon as Martha walked up to the iron gate. Almost immediately the camera set on her face, which was still halfway hidden under her broad black hat. She looked up, directly into the lens, fully aware that Charles was watching her at this exact moment.

Martha raised her hand halfway; without a word from the speaker the gate silently started to open. The green villa seemed to be miles away, sitting in the landscape like a crouching toad. Martha slowly walked along the wet driveway, collecting her thoughts for what lay ahead of her. She had to be strong; she had to be brief. She couldn't let Charles pull her inside again.

She had escaped his train of thought, and was determined to keep it that way. It would be hard facing him again, alone. But it was what she had chosen to do.

It had been four months that she had seen him and over six since she had actually talked to him, on that day on the airfield. Everything had already been shattered then, but she hadn't really been aware of that.

After Charles's arrest, everything had gone according to the plan this great nation held for presidents who happened to be traitors. There had been a deal; Charles was very willing to talk once he understood there was no other choice. Some guy called Graem had taken the fall; obviously the agencies had been looking for him for decades. Charles became the victim, something he had always been brilliant at.

All these top secret hearings had gone by in the blink of an eye or so it had seemed. They weren't really interested in what she had to say anyway.

Martha steeled herself before pressing the button. She had come this far; and it was her right to be here. But before she could even ring the bell, the door swung open by itself. "How sinister", she thought, "and how fitting."

Charles was standing there in the twilight of the hall. It would have been ridiculous if it hadn't been so ironic.

Martha forced a smile unto her lips. "Hello, Charles", she said in a strong voice while her leather-gloved fingers just wouldn't stop trembling.

Finally, Charles stepped into the grey light of the rainy day. "Marty!" he said in such a warm, radiating voice that Martha shuddered, his arms outstretched.

He tried to kiss her on the lips. Quickly and with as much dignity as possible, she turned her face, and he pecked her on the cheek.

The door closed silently and again by itself behind them. Martha had no time to think about it. In here, the rooms were high but didn't really achieve the feeling of greatness they once did. There was a faint smell of coffee and Charles's familiar cologne, but underneath, there was mould and mediocre whiskey. It made her feel embarrassed.

Charles had put his hand on the small of her back and led her to the parlor where the smell of coffee became stronger and her unease slowly – very slowly – turned into determination. Charles, on the other hand, took short, hurried steps and had a small smile on his face that told of extreme nervousness.

Martha had been here before. This was one of innumerable large, impersonal houses of the Logan family. Even after Charles's fall, the family was there for him, or at least their wealth was. Martha didn't think they ever came to visit.

"Marty, I'm so glad you're here!" Charles said as they sat down, but there was a desperate undertone, one that probably only she could hear. He poured her a cup of coffee, his hands not completely steady. "Black, no sugar, like always", he said, smiling this smile he had so often used for the cameras.

Martha closed her eyes for a second in disgust, but also in endless sadness. Somehow, her mind was still resenting the idea that they were sitting here like this.

"So, how have you been, Marty?" Charles asked, crossing his legs. He obviously insisted on calling her by her old nickname. To him she had always been Marty.

In a matter of seconds she contemplated a hundred of different answers. How dare he ask her that? What did he THINK how she'd been?

Her purse, and the papers inside it, was sitting beside her on the fauteuil. She clenched it with her left hand, like a straw.

Then, she looked up, directly into his eyes. "Charles, I haven't come here to make small talk. You know that." Those were the rehearsed lines. She did pretty well, she found.

His face grew cloudy, fitting the fog-clenched park they overlooked from their seats. Like a chameleon, Martha thought and had to suppress a scared little smile.

Charles looked at the hands in his lap and silently said, "I know", surprising her. He was too sincere, too relenting.

"You… do?" she asked, thrown out of her concept. The script she had learned by heart for this scene suddenly seemed useless.

He looked at her and said in a voice she hadn't heard from him in a very, very long time, "I know I've made mistakes. I deserve this, all of it. I deserve your mistrust, your disappointment, maybe even your hate. But I'm willing to do everything…" he gulped, "…everything…to make it right." He had obviously rehearsed this, too.

Martha frowned; she knew she had to keep this civilized in spite of her growing impatience and disorientation. "Make it right?" she asked trying not to sound too annoyed. "Make WHAT right?"

"Everything I can", he said without looking at her. "I've told the authorities everything I know…" "…to save your own ass!" Martha silently added. "I've given most of my money to the victims and their families…" "…but not too much of it, if you live in a house with four bathrooms by yourself", she thought.

"But… but most of all", and now he was looking at her again, "most of all I want to make it right BETWEEN US."

For a moment, Martha thought she had misheard him. This was so completely off, so not what she had expected to hear. This whole conversation went somewhere she didn't want to go. She felt slightly sick.

"We're still us, you know", Charles continued. "We need each other. I know that I still need you. We complement each other. I am missing something since you're gone; I'm incomplete. Together, we can overcome this… we can overcome anything. This we promised each other, remember?" Giving speeches had always been Charles's strong point.

Martha shut her eyes for a second and clenched her teeth. She had to restrain herself to not just get up and leave. But on the other hand, she knew she wouldn't. Something inside her had been waiting for this. She felt she deserved to be begged, and he deserved to be rejected. And she forbade herself this other thought, the thought that she wanted to take him into her arms.

"Charles, please…", she tried. He interrupted her, "Did you get my letter?" She frowned. It had been full of self-pity and self-righteousness. "Yes, I did, but…" He wouldn't let her participate in the conversation. "So you know that I have forgiven you. And now, Marty… I'm asking you, I'm begging you, to forgive me, too." It was like she had imagined it, but then, it wasn't. He was begging, but she didn't enjoy it.

Suddenly, he took her hands into his. "Marty, I still love you. I never stopped, not for a minute. Not even when you betrayed me. You are everything to me." He was looking into her eyes, his face that of a scared child. And he was her Charles again, the man who hadn't dared to kiss her on their first date. SHE had finally kissed HIM, on the porch of her mother's house, after they had seen the movie "Love Story" at the local drive-in cinema.

Martha knew she was on the verge of tears, but she kept fighting them. Just as she was about to speak, Charles looked down on her hands, then suspiciously raised his eyes. "Where's your wedding ring?" he asked sharply.

Martha pulled herself together; the memories faded away. "Well, Charles", she cleared her throat, "this… this is actually why I'm here." Her voice almost sounded normal. "I've come to…" She pulled her hands free and took the paperwork out of her bag. "…give you these. And ask you to sign them."

For an everlasting moment, the divorce papers lay between them like a stone wall. He looked at them shortly, then at her. He took them in his hands, looked them through, looked at her again. The silence stretched into an eternity.

Martha said nothing. She had done what she had come to do.

Charles broke the silence. "Martha… are you serious about this?" he said, his eyes downward. He had called her Martha.

"Yes, Charles, I am. THIS is why I came to see you."

"But… I thought…" He looked like a wounded deer. Everything smug and self-righteous had fallen off of him.

"No, Charles, you didn't." She was in control now. "You lied to yourself. You knew I was with Aaron. And you know that nothing can ever make it right again."

He still looked wounded, but also angry now. "You and Aaron? Oh, come on, Marty. You can't be serious about HIM."

"Yes, I am." She said solemnly. "He is everything you are not."

Charles was silent. Then he looked up with determination on his face. Still a child, but a stubborn one now. "Really", he said, not quite asking. "Well, I won't sign this, Marty. I won't give you up."

She was thrown. "Give me up?" she said in a high-pitched voice, almost shouting. "Charles, I'm not your property. Just… sign it."

"No, Marty." His face was now expressionless. Martha felt absolutely helpless, like sitting in a car that was about to crash. It wasn't supposed to go like this. But really, what had she been thinking, simply coming here and asking him for a divorce? She had forgotten what Charles was.

A pained expression on her face, she got up. She had to get out of here, before everything collapsed.

"Charles, I'm leaving. Please think about it", she said, barely suppressing her anger and confusion.

He looked up at her. "Marty, I HAVE thought about it. I won't change my mind. We belong together."

Martha frowned sadly and slowly shook her head. "Please, Charles…", she whispered.

He didn't answer. Martha turned and went out into the hall, once again the stench of cheap, strong whiskey in her nose. She took her coat from the wardrobe and, without putting it on, went out through the magic door.

Outside, the fog was gone. It was pouring long, ice-cold streaks now. Martha quickly went down the driveway and turned around one last time. Charles was a shadow figure in the doorframe, looking after her.

She straightened herself, turned and walked to the iron gate, coat and hat still in hand, while the rain on her face slowly mixed with her tears.

**End of Part I.**


	2. Part II: Helplessness

**Part II: Helplessness**

The black Sedan was just where she had left it. He had been waiting for her all this time.

She couldn't get in. She just stood there, sobbing, getting soaked from head to toe.

Aaron instantly knew something was wrong. Hurriedly he got out of the driver's seat and walked around the car to take her in his arms.

They stood there, in the pouring rain; Martha's hat and coat dropped to the street that was flowing with water. Aaron caressed her hair and quietly whispered, "Sh, sh…" He didn't know what had happened inside the villa, but he knew it hadn't been good.

Her tears hurt him deep inside. Martha didn't deserve to go on suffering because of _him;_ he had made her suffer enough in the past.

"Martha, we have to get you home and out of these clothes", Aaron said. He slowly led her to the car; she was still crying hard. When she was inside, he picked up her dripping clothes from the asphalt and looked at Charles's villa, still sitting there unimpressed. He briefly wondered what this man had done once again to make Martha this shattered version of herself.

He quickly got in the car. On top of everything else, she shouldn't catch a cold. He carefully put her hat and coat on the backseat.

Later, in the apartment, Martha came out of the bathroom, a towel around her head and dressed in Aaron's blue bathrobe. She kept her own in there, but still liked to borrow his.

She had taken a long, hot shower. Charles and his words had washed off, but only very slowly. She almost felt herself again.

Aaron was wearing his black jogging suit. She loved to see him in it. It was what he had been wearing when they first kissed, half a year ago – which seemed to be an eternity by now. In a way, her life had only begun then.

She sat next to him on the bed. For the longest time she had had reservations about this bed, about sleeping in it as long as she was still married. She was a Republican, after all.

Aaron put his arm around her shoulders. He knew better than to ask if she was alright, because she wasn't. But he would do anything to help her feel better. And that they both knew.

Aaron gave her a soft kiss on the forehead, and they stayed this close for a while. After all this time they had spent together, Martha still found it unbelievable how safe she felt around him. Sometimes, when she kept thinking about it, uncontrollable panic to lose this overcame her. She had learned not to think about it too much.

"Martha, do you want to tell me what happened?" Aaron asked after an endless moment of togetherness. Martha smiled, in spite of herself, about his wording. He was so thoughtful, and yet, when it came to expressing feelings, he sometimes was a bit clumsy.

"Yes, Aaron." She sighed. "It was horrible…" She felt his body stiffen next to her and she could just see, without looking, the frown on his face. She couldn't blame him. She had told him how Charles had treated her that day, in the airfield hangar.

"No, no, nothing like that", she said quickly, knowing what he was thinking. "He was just… Charles, you know?"

Aaron still frowned, the tension in his body didn't cease. "What do you mean? What did he do?" he asked, slightly breathless.

She didn't want to unsettle him, yet she had to tell him. "He didn't _do_ anything… he was just his disgusting old self… and then he wasn't." She knew she was talking confusedly.

She cleared her throat. "To make a long story short, he said no. But not before getting all sentimental on me and asking me to forgive him." She didn't mention that she had become a little sentimental as well.

Aaron shook his head. "Forgive him…" he said, sounding disgusted at such shamelessness.

"Yes", Martha continued. "And then I asked him about the divorce." Aaron was listening intently. "So?"

"Well, he was thrown, to say the least. I… I…" Her voice didn't obey her. Aaron took her into his arms. "It's okay, it's okay."

She sighed, impatient with herself. "It's just… you know, seeing him again. Talking to him. I never expected him to jump to the idea of a divorce, but… I imagined, or I hoped, that it had at least crossed his mind. I mean it is… logical, isn't it?"

"Of course", Aaron said. "Listen, none of this is your fault. You know that."

Martha rubbed her eyes which seemed to have run out of tears by now.

"I know. I know." She said. "It's just so frustrating! I had hoped I could put all this behind me today. But I should have known… It's… Charles, dragging me back into it."

Aaron brushed her hair out of her face. She looked up at him, feeling that kind of dizziness she often felt when directly looking into his eyes.

"Martha", he said, searching for the right words. "I know it was terrible. But please, don't make it bigger than it is. You know… Charles didn't expect this. Give him some time, and he will realize that it is best for everyone."

Martha swallowed, and after a moment, nodded. Aaron was probably right, even though they couldn't take anything to do with Charles for granted.

Martha tried a little smile, her first since this afternoon. It still felt a little out of place. "Thank you", she whispered.

Aaron caressed the side of her face, they kissed. Martha had this strange little sensation in her stomach, like going down really fast in an elevator. She had loved it since they kissed for the first time, and inexplicably it still sometimes happened.

She softly touched the side of his face with her fingertips. There was such profound worry in his eyes; but there was something else, underneath, that she couldn't quite decipher.

"I'm… I'll be okay", she said, even though she wasn't entirely sure she would. "I just felt so helpless, like I didn't have any control…" "I know", Aaron answered, and that was all there was to say.

Martha inhaled deeply and collected herself. "I'll… just go dry my hair", she said and lightly kissed him again, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Looking at her as she closed the door, leaving it slightly ajar, Aaron couldn't help wondering. How was it possible that Charles Logan still had so much power over her? Aaron worried for her; and he suffered with her. But mixed with that, there was also that little streak of jealousy.

When Martha returned, wearing her white silk nightgown, Aaron was already half asleep. She got into bed as quietly as possible and positioned herself in his arms, those arms that seemed to be there whenever she needed them. "Good night", she whispered.

"G´night", he replied, barely audible.

As she lay there, trying to fall asleep, she had to think of the movie "Love Story" for some reason. And she was wondering what Charles was doing now.

**End of Part II.**


	3. Part III: Here We Are Again

**Part III: Here We Are Again**

Martha had waited more than a week before calling Charles. On the one hand, it was the reasonable thing to do; she had to give him time to think. On the other hand she was plainly scared to death to do it.

When she could finally bring herself to it, she called him very early in the morning. The sun hadn't even fully risen, the remains of the night still lingered in the air. She knew Charles loved this time of the day; he had always been a morning person. Sometimes he had been the first one to get up in the White House, before any of the staff.

When the phone rang for the first time, the urge to hang up hit Martha, hard. She didn't, because she knew she would just drop the receiver to the floor if she tried. Her fingers just wouldn't stop trembling, while her left hand turned a white NASCAR pen Aaron had left by the phone, again and again.

Charles picked up after the second ring. He had already been awake, as Martha had expected.

"Charles Logan?" he said, questioningly. She had heard these words from his mouth thousands of times, and yet they sounded so different this time. They were like a familiar room in the middle of a house she'd never been in before.

For a second, Martha felt paralyzed and was convinced she wouldn't be able to say a word. The second passed.

"Charles… it's Martha", she said. Another familiar room in this strange house.

"Marty, hello!" he said, sounding surprised, happy and cautious at the same time. "Good to hear your voice!"

She realized that he thought she had changed her mind. Maybe he wasn't convinced of it, but he hoped. And as so often, he told himself that what he hoped had to be true.

A pained expression on her face, Martha closed her eyes. He hadn't changed a bit, and he hadn't been listening to what she had said when they met at all. She should have known. She couldn't believe that she still saw something in him that wasn't there.

Martha was tired of this old dance. "Charles… I want to meet with you", she said. She knew at once she was just strengthening his conviction, but she couldn't do this on the phone. The NASCAR pen rotated in her hand.

Charles sounded overjoyed. "Sure, Marty… I want to meet with you too."

"Alright", she answered, not strong enough to clarify the situation to him. Charles did this thing again; he sucked all vitality, all personality out of her just by talking to her. "What about today?"

"Of course", he answered, a little too quickly. His days were not as full as they had once been. "I'd love to have dinner with you… at my place."

She hadn't expected this. Actually she had hoped they would meet in a neutral place, and only for a very limited space of time.

But before she could say a word, Charles urged her, "Marty… do me this favor." It was not a question, it was a command. He already knew she was weakened.

And she just couldn't say no. All she wanted was to get this over with. "Alright…" she said quietly.

"Good." Charles was obviously smiling broadly about his victory. "Can you be here at 7.30?"

She couldn't believe she had lost all control over this conversation she had initiated. But there was no turning back now. At least Charles would meet with her.

"Alright… I'll be there", she quickly said before he could hear her voice waver, and hung up. She breathed deeply and put her face in her hands.

"I'm okay, I'm okay", she whispered to herself. "Just one last dinner."

She collected herself and put the NASCAR pen she had unconsciously still been holding down.

In the other room, she could hear Aaron getting up.

She was alone when she arrived this time. Aaron was out of town; which had been a good excuse for her not to tell him about it. There was an inner barrier that had kept her from doing it. If she failed again he didn't have to know.

She parked her small VW just as the sun began to set. It took her a couple of minutes before she could get out. She didn't dare to think of the imminent situation; when she tried, the panic blocked out every coherent thought. At least the two Xanax she had taken began to take effect.

Orange sunrays touched the right side of her face as she once again walked up the driveway. When she was still twenty feet away from the entrance door, she saw a quick movement in one of the windows next to it. Then, the door opened, revealing Charles. He was beaming.

There was no kissing attempt today for which she was thankful. But he hugged her a couple of seconds too long.

As they approached the dining room, she could hear faint music, chords that seemed at once familiar.

_The sweet love story that is older than the sea__  
The simple truth about the love she brings to me…_

It was "Where do I begin", the title song of "Love Story". Martha felt like being wrapped in a big, cozy blanket on a freezing winter evening. For a second, she felt at ease. The Xanax probably contributed to that.

On the table, a glass of dry sherry was waiting for her. "I know how much you love a drink of _Manzanilla Pasada_ before dinner", Charles said.

Martha was flabbergasted. The dining room was huge, more of a dining hall really. On the far end, Charles had set up the table, with a long white tablecloth, tall candles and a single red rose. This was not a formal meal to discuss legal matters; this was a romantic dinner.

_With you my love, who could be lonely__  
I reach for her hand, it's always there_

The song continued. Martha saw it was coming from an ancient gramophone upon which a record slowly spun.

A scene popped into her head; a scene where she gave this exact single to Charles for their first anniversary. She had had no idea he had kept it through all these years.

Still incredulous, she sat down. Charles did the same with a big smile on his face. "I've also made your favorite, Filet Mignon", he said.

She couldn't answer. Instead, she tossed back the sherry in one big gulp.

"Are you okay, Marty?" Charles asked. She only nodded. He looked at her for a moment, then said, "You know, it's good that you're here. This is how it's supposed to be."

Martha found it hard to pay attention. She had noticed Charles was wearing the same red white and blue tie he had worn the day he became a Senator; they had celebrated in a cute little L.A. restaurant called "Tuptas". He had also once worn an earring of the same colors; this had been a very, very long time ago. They had been in love back then.

She looked him in the face, searching for remains of the man he had then been. She thought maybe there was something, but she wasn't entirely sure.

Charles had settled back in his chair, his legs crossed. He kept looking at her.

_I know I'll need her till the stars all burn away__  
And she'll be there_

The song came to an end. Martha wondered how he could have known.

"Dinner will be ready soon", Charles said. "But before, Martha…" He hesitated, so briefly that she hardly noticed it. "…would you do me the honor to dance with me?" He got up before she could answer and went to the gramophone.

Carefully he put the "Love Story" record back into the cover, then sifted through his collection, looking up in-between and smiling at her. She smiled back. She didn't even know why.

Finally he found what he had been looking for. The gramophone needle started its pre-music rustle when Charles put the record on. For a moment it was the only sound in this large hall, but it seemed to multiply. To Martha, it was deafening.

With quick steps, Charles came to her, one hand behind his back, the other one outstretched; a perfect gentleman in his black suit.

Half a second before the music started, Martha knew what he had chosen for their dance. It was "Unchained Melody" by the Righteous Brothers.

_Oh, my love, my darling,__  
I've hungered for your touch_

She took his hand, and he led her to the improvised dance floor.

He gently put his hand on her waist and began to sway her. They silently and slowly danced, while the Righteous Brothers sang.

_And time goes by so slowly__  
And time can do so much_

The only light that shone upon the couple came from an ancient crystal luster and from the white candles on the table. Martha closed her eyes, the smell of Charles's cologne in her nose.

And suddenly, she was 18 again, dancing with Charles on their prom for the first time. She had been elected prom queen that night; James Deeger, star quarterback, had become king. But even during her obligatory dance with James, she had only had eyes for Charles. He had watched them the entire time. He seemed hurt, but underneath she saw a jealous rage in his eyes, which she had found very exciting.

And then, they were dancing on the night of their wedding, the very last dance. Nobody but them was on the dance floor, the guests had either already left or – the five or six that hadn't – were having tired, alcohol-induced conversations, about the meaning of life or the weather, she supposed.

She had been so utterly happy in that moment, with her head resting on Charles's shoulder and her feet already freed of her wedding heels, that it almost blew her mind.

And then there had been the night after they had lost Charles jr. They had been drinking so much scotch Martha could hardly remember a thing. But she knew that at some point, they had danced to no music, Charles's fingers tightly pressed against her back while tears kept running down her face.

At last, there was a dance at an election party, she didn't remember which one, but they had won. They had been dancing in the middle of a sea of multicolored balloons, with big proud smiles upon their faces. Around them, what seemed to be thousands of people, had done likewise.

And now, here they were, once again dancing. They had gone through all this, together, side by side.

She felt his fingers slowly stroke down her back. He pulled her closer, so that their cheeks almost touched. She could feel his breath on her neck. His breathing wasn't completely steady. Their hips touched.

Suddenly, Charles stopped dancing and took a small step back. He looked her into the eyes for a very long moment, then detached his left hand from hers and gently put it on her cheek.

Even though his hand was ice cold – which had always been a sign of insecurity in him – the touch sent a burning hot sensation through her skin. "This can't be happening", Martha thought, "This is a dream. It has to be."

But it wasn't. Charles softly stroked her cheek, his fingers trembling. He still looked her in the eyes, a question lying in his look. She just couldn't look away.

"I'll be coming home to you", the Righteous Brother sang as he softly kissed her on the lips for the first time. And they were right, it was like coming home.

"No… Charles." She pushed him away, shaking her head. On her face, there was a frown of surprised disbelief. "We can't…"

"Shhh…" he softly said, kissing her again. She didn't resist. She knew she was making the biggest mistake of her life right there, but that piece of knowledge didn't mean anything in this moment. Everything that had come between them faded. It felt like getting her life back, the life she had loved.

Their kisses grew more and more passionate. Martha wrapped her arms around Charles's neck as he led her to the door. They stumbled against the doorframe as Charles slid her dark grey blazer from her shoulders, his lips never leaving his.

Still kissing, they made their way to what Martha recognized as one of the guest bedrooms. The moon was shining through the window, casting its light on the king-sized bed. It was waiting there for them, the sheets in white satin.

They didn't bother to turn on the light, and went straight to the bed. As she sat down, Charles retreated for a second to take off his own jacket; they were both breathing heavily.

Martha moved to the middle of the bed, and then he was above her. While Charles covered her neck in kisses, she slowly turned her head and looked out the window. Suddenly, Aaron's face flashed before her eyes. She pushed it aside.

Charles unbuttoned her black silk blouse with his left hand and softly kissed her collarbone. With his right hand, he hitched up her skirt. His fingertips gently made their way up her inner thigh.

The Righteous Brothers were right about another thing. She _had_ hungered for his touch. After all these years, he knew how she liked to be touched.

She felt Charles's weight on her body, his fingers and lips on her skin. Martha knew she had to stop this. But she didn't.

**End of Part III.**


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